


checking him out

by iconoclastic04



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Mentions of alcohol, in the same checkout line in walmart at 2am au, other than that not a whole lot to say about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iconoclastic04/pseuds/iconoclastic04
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil’s not normally this straightforward, but it’s two a.m. and he is in the self-checkout line at Walmart and he is drunker than he tries to be most Monday nights. The few warm beers he’d had before he left the work party had served to loosen his tongue and make his fingers feel slightly fuzzy, and as he glances back at the stranger in line behind him, he feels a warmth spread throughout his body.</p><p>Or, the one where Cecil and Carlos meet in the checkout line at Walmart at two a.m.</p>
            </blockquote>





	checking him out

Cecil’s not normally this straightforward, but it’s two a.m. and he is in the self-checkout line at Walmart and he is drunker than he tries to be most Monday nights. The few warm beers he’d had before he left the work party had served to loosen his tongue and make his fingers feel slightly fuzzy, and as he glances back at the stranger in line behind him, he feels a warmth spread throughout his body.

“Hi,” he says, turning around. “I really like your hair. It’s...it’s kind of perfect.”

The stranger chuckles. “Uh, thanks.” He is dark-skinned with a long ponytail of unruly black curls, and his voice sounds to Cecil like a forbidden hierarchy of angels singing. He is wearing faded jeans, a stained tshirt with an illegible saying across the chest, and a pristine white lab coat. He is handsome and smart and miles out of Cecil’s league.

Cecil plunges on. “Also your lab coat? It’s pretty perfect too. All of you is perfect, actually. It’s really impressive. My name’s Cecil. I do this radio thing? On, you know, the radio? I do the news. Who are you?”

The stranger eyes him confusedly. “I’m Carlos. It’s, uh, nice to meet you, Cecil.”

Cecil never thought that hearing his own name could almost make him swoon, but he has to grab the rack of candy bars next to him in order to keep from falling when he hears Carlos speak. “Nice to meet you too, Carlos.” He tries to lean against the rack of candy bars and look cool. “What are you doing here so late?”

Carlos squints at him. I am going to hell, Cecil thinks, because his heart should not be racing this fast just because this stranger changed expressions. “I just moved here,” Carlos says cautiously. “I’m grabbing some, uh, dinner before I hit the hay tonight.” He gestures at the 12-pack of Ramen noodles he’s holding. “Food. Food is good. What are you doing here so late?” He looks pointedly at the pack of cigarettes and bottle of whiskey that Cecil has just placed on the conveyor belt.

“Oh, I don’t smoke,” Cecil says casually, glancing at the cigarettes. “It’s bad for the voice. For, you know, the radio and all that.” He nods at Carlos.

“You sure about that?” Carlos asks, a hint of amusement in his voice. “That you don’t smoke, I mean?”

Cecil blinks. “Well. I don’t. Most of the time. Occasionally, you know, I get the urge, and I don’t have work tomorrow so it doesn’t matter, and I kind of figure, well, to hell with it. To hell with life, you know?”

He grabs the pack of cigarettes and swipes them under the scanner. A light flashes and a tired-looking attendant trudges over. “Sir, we have to card you for those,” she says in a monotone. “You’ll have to come over to one of our regular lanes.”  
Cecil sends a panicked look behind his shoulder at Carlos, this perfect stranger who probably thought he was a creepy drunkard, and swallowed hard. “I _—_ okay,” he says, his heart already aching, and plods off towards the only other lane that was lit up. As he walks away, he can hear the self-checkout machine telling Carlos to please scan his items.

An acne-scarred cashier that somehow manages to look even more tired than the girl who tore him apart from Carlos takes Cecil’s cigarettes and bottle of whiskey, glances at his I.D., and scans the items. He drops them haphazardly into a plastic bag and thrusts the bag at Cecil, who takes it, not paying attention to the cashier anymore, looking around, where is he where is he where is he. Cecil does not see Carlos anywhere. Perfect, perfect Carlos has vanished. This Monday is the worst.

Cecil almost jumps out of his skin when someone taps him on his shoulder. Turning, he sees that it is Carlos, his face contorted in a smile that is somewhere between sheepish and exhausted. Cecil can feel his smile widening across his face. “You dropped this,” Carlos says, holding something out to him.

It’s his receipt. “I don’t need it,” Cecil says, “it was only a couple of things. I didn’t even pay with credit.”

“Take it,” Carlos says, shoving the receipt towards him again. This time, he takes it, and Carlos continues talking. “You’ll want it once you sleep off that hangover.” And then he winks _—_ oh god, he winks, Cecil is in deep this time if he’s hallucinating that badly _—_ and strolls out the automatic double doors.

Cecil looks down at the receipt clutched weakly in his hand. On it is his total, $22.37 with tax, and, written in red ink, a name _—_ Carlos _—_ and a phone number.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, come say hi on [tumblr](robotbeowulf.tumblr.com)!


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